


Periplaneta Americana

by sweptawaybayou



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-17
Updated: 2012-10-17
Packaged: 2017-11-16 12:44:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/539565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweptawaybayou/pseuds/sweptawaybayou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Lift up the receiver.</i><br/>I’ll make you a believer.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>beta by elucidate this</p>
            </blockquote>





	Periplaneta Americana

Lindsey opened his eyes slowly. His vision was hazy, it felt like sand had been filled and ground under his lids and he blinked a couple of times. On the floor in front of him there was nothing but dust and six legs. A three-inch, hard-shell body scraped the wood floor lightly. Twitching antennae. 

Lindsey shivered and it hurt. He welcomed the pain. He opened his mind and let it wash through him and his eyes never left the roach as it scurried in front of him, hungry, always hungry. Always searching for more. For that one more morsel that would put it a step above his competitors on the food chain. For one more taste. Hair, crumbs, feces, skin cells, it didn’t matter. Everything was digestible. Everything was food. Staying alive was a matter of avoiding the big smack-down and climbing a shelf higher in a pantry that had no visible ceiling. 

Lindsey moved each appendage, taking stock of his body. Legs, knees, feet, toes. Shoulders, arms, fingers. Hand. Taking a breath hurt, his ribs felt as if they were cracked. He licked his lips and kept it shallow. Dust in his lungs, the flavor of old whiskey on his tongue.

The roach stopped moving, it’s legs frozen in place. Lindsey didn’t inhale until it started cleaning its long antennae. Pulling each one down and filtering it through its mouth. It was still alert and he was still in pain, but the dark stayed dark. The room remained quiet. Nothing had changed. He was alone.

He let his world expand, dull human senses that reached only a couple of steps beyond his body.

Water dripped from a tap not far away. A dim glow from a neon light spilled through a window.

_“Make sure you clean up before you leave, Lindsey. Wouldn’t want anyone to think that you were ever less than the perfect gentleman. The successful lawyer, risen from the trailers by the landfill to here. To this.”_

A kiss on his forehead, the gentlest that Lindsey had ever experienced. Soft lips, a low voice that was switchblade sharp with sarcasm. A door shut and the sound seemed to echo in his mind.

They had both been quiet during the entire time they were together in this room. As if they were afraid that even in this part of town, someone, something would be listening or watching. That one of the homeless they each had passed as they took separate ways to the motel actually cared what they were doing. Lindsey trembled, still feeling the cool press of Angel’s chest and thighs and hands and cock against his shoulders and hips and ass. Crushed between that hard body and a wall that felt thin and weak in comparison. Chipped paint and drywall under his fingernails. The roach stopped near a spot on the floor and ate something. Lindsey imagined that it was a drop of his blood. 

He hadn’t recognized the voice on the phone. Of course, he _knew_ who it was, but still … he didn’t. It was rougher, lower. Filled with more menace than guilt, it rumbled with more anger than the teasing lust and biting scorn that Lindsey was used to hearing.

_“Meet me at the Santa Clarita. You remember where that is?”_

_“I remember.”_

_… breaking in with two muscles-for-hire. They tasered Angel and held him on his knees as Lindsey watched Drusilla turn Darla. Pieces and parts of Angel’s past and Lindsey had questioned later where all the bruises and cuts on Angel’s face and chest had come from, but he wouldn’t ever ask._

Lindsey turned his head an inch and wondered if this was the same room. Knowing Angel, it probably was and Lindsey still wasn’t sure if this had been Angel that he’d met tonight. The look in his eyes, the hunger, the growl, it didn’t fit the Angel that Lindsey knew or the profile that Wolfram and Hart provided. Lindsey knew that file better than the Bible verses his father had quoted while beating him with his belt on Saturday nights after one too many at the bars that still accepted his credit.

Lindsey had finished his whiskey and heeled like a well-trained dog without a leash. He supposed that he had shown Angel more about his soul at that moment than anything else he’d ever done.

Sleeping with the enemy. 

If what they’d done could be called _sleeping_. What Lindsey had let Angel do to him, take from him. It couldn’t have been Angelus, Lindsey knew that much. If it had been, he’d be dead. Not just in so much pain that he was unwilling to move off of this filthy floor. Unwilling to ratchet up the agony if he balanced on the stub of his wrist and the torn fingernails of his hand. Unwilling to even try to get on his knees right now, or again.

_He could hear the faint sound of some television show coming from the next room. He shut the door and waited for his eyes to adjust to the dim. Angel stood not three feet away. His face as expressionless as ever, his shoulders blocking some of the glow from a street lamp. Headlights trailed across the walls as the ceaseless traffic moved on the boulevard._

_“Take it off, Lindsey.”_

_“What?”_

_His shirt? His pants? His shoes?_

_“The hand. I want to see what I did to you.”_

_“Fucking mutilated me, you son of a- “_

_“Shut up, Lindsey.”_

Lindsey knew his prosthetic was still on the hideously patterned comforter, on the bed that hadn’t been disturbed or used. He’d taken it off, tossed it there. Pulled the sleeve of his shirt back and held up his scarred wrist. Still surprised at the sight when he looked, every morning, every night. Still shocked at the phantom pain and the itch, the need to scratch, to touch, to feel what wasn’t there anymore.

Angel stepped forward. Lindsey couldn’t smell alcohol, but he had a hunch that Angel had been drinking. And he’d learned to trust his instincts. There was a stale cloud of cigarette smoke around the vampire, which made Lindsey question the security of Angel’s soul. Angelus had smoked. Angel didn’t. He’d never seen Angel with a cigarette. But again, if this was Angelus? He’d be dead. No question, and that was not instinct, just the simple truth. Toyed with, tortured, tied and broken and then Angelus would have taken his dead or dying body back to the firm and left him, like a lawn ornament. Splayed over the sign at the front of the building or perhaps up in his corner office, crucified on the wall. His own dismembered cock in his mouth.

Angel touched the scar, leaned a little closer and Lindsey thought he could see the vampire’s chest expand under his shirt as he inhaled. Smelling him. Smelling her on his skin. Those dark eyes flickered over to meet Lindsey’s and Lindsey knew right there that she had been right. No one, certainly not Wolfram and Hart, not even Lindsey, could play vampires as old as they both were.

_“It’s not me you want to screw.” Darla’s honey-thick, clotted voice was as sharp in his memory as it had been in his ears. “It’s him.”_

She’d been almost right.

Pushed to his knees by the big hands on his shoulders. The head of Angel’s cock rubbed the roof of his mouth every single time Angel’s hips slammed forward Lindsey was rocked back to his heels. Lindsey’s hand held onto Angel’s thigh, fingers curled behind his knee and drops of sweat trickled down his face as he sucked and sucked and sucked. Amazed as his desperation to get the vampire off surfaced. His own cock swelled and throbbed, trapped inside jeans that had become too tight, too confined. Angel fucked his mouth with his eyes closed, his lips pulled back from blunt teeth. His fingers tangled in Lindsey’s hair, holding him still and Lindsey’s jaw ached from the blow that he hadn’t seen coming, prompted by the automatic smirk that had curled his lips when Angel pushed him down. Lesson learned. And Lindsey was nothing if not a quick student.

Lindsey was pulled to his feet, his mouth full of the taste of Angel’s come. His clothes stripped off, his ever-present smile put to the test as his body was abused and fucked.

_“Scream for me, Lindsey.”_

_“Fuck you, Angel.”_

A hard, stuttering thrust and a pain that was knives up his spine. Funny that the pain didn’t make his cock soften at all. Hilarious that it didn’t slow Lindsey from pushing back into every shove forward, groaning and gasping and reaching with his hand to bring Angel deeper. A Goddamn riot that it didn’t stop him from coming all over the cheap, peeling wallpaper in front of him as Angel grabbed his cock. Angel jerked him in time with each deep push and thrust. Those long fingers tight and right and perfect, as if he’d watched Lindsey masturbate before. As if he knew just how and where and when and yes yes yes … And _Jesus_ it felt as if Angel’s cock would be coming up out of Lindsey’s throat and mouth.

_“Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me…”_

Fists and fangs and blood and spit and come, the reality of the silence of the room countered the screams in his mind. Clothes ripped and torn and dropped and Lindsey had the final satisfaction of knowing that Angel left the hotel room with bruises and cuts and fingerprints. That the vampire was owned. Haunted. His. 

Lindsey turned at the last moment. Angel’s semen dripped down Lindsey’s ass to his thighs. His fingers curled around the back of the vampire’s neck. He brought, pulled, and demanded that mouth to meet his as he clung to Angel.

_“Kiss me, Angel.”_

Lindsey’s hands gripped. His voice a harsh whisper. The sound of a child forever left alone in the dark. 

There was only a moment’s hesitation. A thundercloud spinning in the wind, lightening that flashed in the distance, illuminating clouds on the horizon. The fear of rejection. Buried memories of beatings for no reason from a father that didn’t know how to love his children. A father that didn’t know how to take care of them and would never be able to learn. The fights that happened at every new school because Lindsey wouldn’t give up his lunch money, because he looked at the wrong person, because he wore the wrong jeans or simply because he was too small and too pretty. Too poor. Too smart. 

Too bad.

Angel’s tongue filled his mouth. His fingers tangled in Lindsey’s hair. Teeth on teeth, lips bared and split. Chin against chin and for a moment, Lindsey couldn’t breathe. The scent of blood in the air, copper and iron and salt. Lindsey was broken by an emotion, beaten by the truth. He fell to the floor when Angel released him. A gentle kiss on his forehead, soft voice, the sound of the door opening and closing and it was over.

A newborn sun spilled through the window and Lindsey braced his body. He could still smell Angel in the room, feel the burn of his cock as Angel had thrust inside him, and he heard the sound of his own voice begging for more … and more … even as the light grew brighter. He reached out and covered the cockroach with his palm. He felt the hard exoskeleton break under his hand as he rose to his knees. The cold, wet explosion against his skin. Pain filled his head as he moved and Lindsey smiled. 

 

~fin

Includes dialogue from Ats 2x7 ‘Darla’


End file.
